The Dying of Skid317
by Lancer47
Summary: NCIS investigates a series of murders in our nation's capitol. Buffy and Faith get in the way. Will Gibbs be able to sort it out?
1. Chapter 1

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Crossed over with

NCIS

**The Dying of Skid317**

by Lancer47

STFarnham

_Summary:_

_A tale of revenge with supernatural power. _

_This started out to be a subplot in _Buffy Returns to Washington_. But it just didn't fit, at least not without going back and changing a lot that was already posted. However, it dropped out neatly into a standalone story, so here it is._

_Warning: This story gets dark, much darker than I expected when I started to write it. But it will end well._

_Rating: T (or R). For scenes of violence and some characters use words that start with an 'F'._

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. As far as I know, there is no ship named the USS Blackett Strait, CG 80. No character is based on any real person. Any similarity is strictly coincidence and unintended. I'm trespassing on other peoples turf, but I ain't makin' no bread offa this. So it's cool. _

_This is distributed under the Creative Commons license, others may play here as long as correct attribution is maintained. No commercial application is allowed. _

**Prologue**

"_Life is nothing but a competition to be the _

_criminal rather than the victim." _ Bertrand Russell

Ziva and Tony got out of the van and ducked under the crime scene tape. Gibbs nodded to them and turned to the uniformed police officer with his badge, "NCIS, what do you have?"

"Fourteen year old black male, stabbed in the chest. Discovered just before dawn by BM2 Ostermeyer on his way home from the mid-watch at the Washington Naval District Headquarters – he's over there," he pointed across the street at the Navy Yard Police car. "We identified the victim as an enlisted dependent, a Marcus Worthing, Jr. He's about three blocks from home. We haven't notified the parents yet."

Ziva kneeled to inspect the body, "Anybody know what these tattoos mean? They look like gang tats, but are there gangs on a Navy base? This is the Senior Enlisted Married Housing area, right?"

"Yeah, but he might have been attending a local off-base school, or maybe they just moved here. Could have been any number of things, or maybe they're not gang related," said Tony.

Ziva nodded, unconvinced.

They went through the usual routine, canvassing, searching the scene, notifying parents, Dr. Mallard pronounced death and removed the body.

A day later they got Ducky's report. Ziva read it and got to the cause of death, "What the hell? There were splinters in his heart? He was killed with a wood stake? Who would do something like that? Why would someone do something like that?"

Gibbs shook his head, "That's what we need to find out. Do we have anything yet?"

DiNozzo said, "Yeah, I talked to the Washington DC Police Gang Unit, our boy Marcus sported tattoos that identified him as Skid317, a local gang. They're a major problem: drugs, prostitution, murder, you name it, if it's illegal and either fun or profitable, they're doin' it."

"So it sounds like somebody did us a favor by killing this kid," Ziva said.

Gibbs glared at her, "Ziva, he was only fourteen years old! We don't know if he was involved in any crimes, we could have, should have, got him out of that life."

"Sorry Gibbs," she replied, but her attitude wasn't particularly sorry.

**Chapter One**

"_They are not all saints who use holy water."_

Old English Proverb

"So I said, shit man! The fuckers gonna scream! And my boy here, he put it to 'em, you shoulda seen it! My man! Stuck that sucker like a pig! With a hunk a iron! Should a seen it!"

"Heh, heh!" laughed Stretch, otherwise known as Seaman Apprentice Jefferson, and my homeboy, Jamie Wilson, not known by many to be a minor heroin distributer here in DeeCee. He's also my brother. Me? I'm a Petty-fuckin'-officer, Third Class Fire Controlman, yeah! I shoot the big muthers!

Wilson nodded towards the package at his feet. "How much ya thinks there?"

I replied, "That box has about three point zero zero kilos muh man! Pure dee shit! One hundred per cent! And we got twelve boxes! Jonson got the other eleven boxes – he'll deliver 'em to the warehouse tomorrow. That's 'bout eighty fuckin' pounds my man! Eighty fuckin' pounds of pure profit! We're all gonna be mil-yon-airs! This ain't a bad crib you got here, bro, but soon we'll have mansions!"

"Bro, you fuckin' pulled it off! How'd ja do it?"

"It was easy! Our ship was cruisin' the Gulf of Arabia man. We made our contact easy, 'cept it was in a falling-down building with animals running around in some really crappy little town. Course, killin' the supplier was tricky, but that kept the cost down. Then my boy Stretch here just brought it on board when I had the quarterdeck watch one night – two trips with with the stuff in a backpack – slicker 'n shit. All I had to distract was the OOD and send the messenger off on an errand. Piece a cake! But our ship's clerk had bought hash! Loads of it, so I turned him in, anonymously a course. So when we got to port, they brought dogs on board and went straight to the secure stores! The stupid shit hid his stash in a compartment that only him, two Chiefs and the Captain were the only ones on board had a key. You can bet he got his ass tossed in the brig! Then they stopped searching, assumin' there wasn't no other contraband on board. Then, a little midnight re-con and here we is!"

I didn't see any reason to mention to my brother how terrified we were when we had to kill the supplier. That goat fucker whipped out the biggest fucking sword I ever saw and commenced to swinging it at me! I tell you, it was a mighty close thing. We was lucky to get away alive, much less with the drugs and money both. Lady luck surely shined on us that night. Then once we hit NoFuck, there was the problem of getting the H _off_ the ship, that took some plannin' and a big dose of pure chance!

We all slapped palms and thought about our money. Just then I heard a noise that didn't belong, a thump from down the hall. "Hey," I said softly, "y'all hear sumpin?" We turned, and there, much to our amazement, was a girl walking towards us out the shadows, sort of sashaying along like she knew something we didn't.

"Hey baby, watcha doin here? I din't let you in, someone give you a key? You're like a present for me?" asked Wilson with a big shit-eatin' leer.

The girl looked to be about sixteen, seventeen maybe, thin and cute, and vaguely familiar. She walked up to my brother, flashed a savage smile, and without a single word she viciously plunged a wood knife or something into his chest. Jefferson and I both stood shocked to our very core at the sheer cruelty. Then Jamie fell on the duffelbag at his feet, a gusher of blood spurted all over the carpet, the white couch, the table, and us, his eyes wide open while his jaw worked reflexively as he tried to get enough air to scream.

We pulled our guns – Jefferson got off two shots from his Ruger twenty-two, but he insisted on holdin' his gun gang style, sideways, and he missed. I told him before not to do it that way, do it like boot camp, but no, he had to be stylin'. The girl didn't miss though, she shoved her stake so far into Stretch's chest the point came out his back, right through his tee. The stake got caught on his ribs or something and she couldn't get it out. I pointed my trusty 9 mil at her and glared over the barrel as I started to pull the trigger. But her foot came outta nowhere and kicked my gun outta my hand. Then she hit me so hard I flew into the wall and slid down to the floor, stunned into immobility. I could only watch as she put her foot on Stretch's chest to brace him while she yanked the stake out, then she walked over to me. The lasts thing I saw was that stake plunging towards me. I wanted to ask, _why,_ but there wasn't no time. I didn't feel no pain as the world went dark on my ass. I was terribly disappointed; I always thought my dying would come with more fanfare than that.

**--- ---**

"Did you hear that? Were those shots?" asked Detective Simms of the Washington DC PD Anti-Gang Unit. He sat on a rough crate in the back of a crappy old van, hunched over a dilapidated receiver, holding headphones to his ear while an ancient tape recorder spun steadily.

Detective Walter shook his head, "Could have been from a twenty-two, I suppose, or a thirty-eight with a suppressor. Can you hear anything else? It seems awfully quiet all of a sudden, those skells were nothin' but talk for the last twenty minutes, why would they suddenly shut up?"

Simms and Walter listened for another twenty or thirty seconds. Simms finally said, "I don't like this, somethings wrong, let's move in." He picked up his microphone and yelled, "MOVE IN! GO! GO! GO!"

Sirens blared and tires screamed as five police cars screamed in and slammed to a stop around the small apartment building. Uniformed cops on foot ran after the cars and covered all possible exits. Another dozen ran into the building and down the halls. Simms and Walter pounded into the apartment, guns drawn, yelling "POLICE! POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" But when they got to the scene, they were greeted with silence, blood, and bodies, mercilessly lit by bright living room lights with police car flashers from below reflected eerily in the windows. The detectives skidded to a stop and looked around wildly, trying to catch their breaths.

Simms asked into his radio, "Did anyone see anything at all? Anyone? Anybody?" There was no answer. Simms and his partner looked at each in disbelief. "How could someone murder three people under our noses? Three people we had covered! Three people we were listening to and they were murdered while we listened! What the hell happened here!"

Walter said callously, "On the other hand, they saved us some work."

"Oh blow me, you know damn well this is gonna cause us way more trouble and paperwork than if we'd arrested them, Walter."

"Well, you right 'bout that. But I'm still not gonna shed any tears for any Skid317 assholes. This Wilson was a hell of a bad motha-fucka. Frankly, I'm glad he's dead, the city will be better off without him."

"Yeah, but who stabbed these guys under our noses and wafted away without anybody noticing? Everyone's gonna think cop conspiracy. This is gonna be huge trouble, you mark my words."

Less than an hour later many more cops had arrived, including a couple of assistant chiefs, crime scene technicians, an ADA, crowd-control officers, reporters, neighbors, onlookers, and just plain curious folk. It had turned into a regular three ring circus, if circuses ever performed at dawn.

One of the assistant chiefs was haranguing the detectives, "If I find one single uncrossed 'T' or undotted 'i', your ass will be mine!" he hissed angrily, "I don't know what the hell went down here, but black guys murdered under cop's noses don't play well in DC!"

"But they're Skids, Chief!"

"It won't matter! If I had a reason to take your badges—but I don't, yet," he said darkly.

He would have kept on, but one of the crime scene techs had fished out the wallets of the victims, and after checking the contents, said, "Hey, two of these guys are active duty sailors!"

The detectives silently thanked their gods that something was there to take some of the pressure off of them. Simms said, "Well Chief, we need to call the Navy, right now. You know how irritated they get if we don't notify them immediately when one of theirs gets in trouble."

Even the Assistant Chief brightened at the news, "Yeah Simms, call NCIS, we'll stop processing the scene until we find out what they want us to do. Of course, they're gonna want to investigate you two, then maybe I won't have to put IAD on your asses." The two detectives frowned.

The most senior officers and officials decided they had more important business elsewhere and departed before NCIS arrived, only twenty minutes later. Ziva held up her badge to the cops and stalked into the building behind Gibbs while McGee and DiNozzo got their investigating tools out of the van. Gibbs stopped to talk to the detectives, who were drinking coffee and lounging in the hall just outside the apartment.

"I see you guys are busily employed holding up this wall." Gibbs looked around at the police officers and crime scene techs, all waiting for him, apparently.

"Yeah, Agent Gibbs, this here building would probably collapse if weren't for us bracing it," Walter replied lazily as he took a sip from his Starbucks cup.

"Our tax dollars at work. Whatcha got?"

Simms straitened up and said, "Well, this is actually kind of a, what's that phrase you sailors use when you have a huge screw-up, a _cluster-fuck_? Yeah that's it, a cluster fuck."

Gibbs glared, "I'm not a sailor, I'm a Marine, different thing entirely!"

"Uh, sorry Gibbs, but you're a civilian now anyway, right?"

"Once a Marine, always a Marine! Now tell me what happened here."

"We had Wilson, that one," he pointed, "under surveillance. We have his apartment bugged, but not the hall. We could hear them, we had the hall visually covered on both ends, but we couldn't see them once they closed the door. We did get pictures of these two," he pointed to the other two bodies, "walking in the building and the apartment, around 4:30 AM. They talked for about twenty minutes, we got it all on tape, then one or more persons came in and stabbed them without saying a word, then got away. We don't know yet how they got in or out. We didn't see who it was, we din't see anyone else, at all. After a few seconds of silence, we moved in, broke down the door and found the bodies, exactly as you see. We discovered these two were active duty Navy, so we stopped processing the scene and called you."

Gibbs stared at the detective and said, with anger and disbelief dripping from every syllable, "You don't know what happened? Three people were murdered during your watch and you're all _'See no evil; hear no evil; please boss, didn't do no evil'_? Just how stupid do you think I am?"

"Not stupid at all Gibbs, we wouldn't try a story like that if wasn't true."

"No suh," agreed Detective Walters sarcastically, "we wouldn't try to fool you Feds for nuthin', no siree bob."

Gibbs shot Walters an angry look, then went into the bloody apartment.

Ziva, already inside taking pictures, inquired undiplomatically, "This is the police force that used to work for a crackhead mayor, right?"

The cops around her stiffened and glared. They couldn't think of a fitting comeback, though.

Ducky had arrived and started to examine the bodies. He turned Wilson over and uncovered the duffel bag. Ziva unzipped it and looked inside. She leaned back, startled, and said, "GIBBS! You'd better look at this!"

Gibbs stepped over and looked in the bag, "What the hell is that doing here?", he inquired to no one in particular. He bent down and carefully lifted out a navy-gray metal case bearing stenciled labels that said: 25MM MK 38 - USS Blackett Strait, CG 80, with a long part number underneath. Gibbs lifted the case easily, the cops around him reacted by moving back.

"Holy shit, Gibbs, what the hell'd ja find? That's not gonna explode, is it?" asked Detective Simms nervously.

"No," replied Gibbs, "this is an ammunition box for a crew-served Naval gun, but if this box were full of cartridges, I wouldn't be able to lift it, at least not without straining something."

Gibbs put it down and opened it. Some of the cops thought he was being a little precipitous and backed out to the hall, but nothing happened. Gibbs looked inside and frowned deeply. He poked a knife into a plastic wrapped package and sniffed it cautiously. He stood up and said, "I think that's heroin, I suspect it's about as pure as it gets." He looked around at the cops and studied their reactions and thought about everything they did or said in the last few minutes. Finally, he said, "Well, where there's this much heroin, there's usually a fair chunk of cash. Anyone find any?"

The cops all looked at each other and shrugged. Simms said, "We haven't searched the place yet, except for part of this room."

Gibbs didn't see anyone getting nervous, so he said, "All right detectives, NCIS is now the lead agency on this investigation. I want copies of your case files, evidence, and notes, but I want you to continue on your end and interview friends and family of the vics, if you can find any. We'll interview the crew of their ship, and trace the drugs," said Gibbs, "furthermore, your involvement is – on review, depending on what we find. This case is full of anomalies. McGee!"

"Yeah boss?"

"What have you got on the Navy victims?"

McGee had been tapping industriously away at his laptop through a wifi connection. "Seaman Apprentice Jefferson is from the USS Blackett Strait, CG 80, and so is FC3 Thomas Wilson. The Blackett Strait is home-ported in Norfolk, and that's where it is now. These guys are on an authorized four-day liberty, due back Monday morning."

"Looks like they're gonna miss morning quarters," DiNozzo commented.

Ziva quietly asked Tony, "What's an FC3?"

"Fire Controlman."

"He's firefighter?"

"No, no, he controls the firing of big guns and missiles and stuff like that."

"Ah."

McGee continued, "Jefferson has been to Captain's mast at least twice, last time he was busted down from third class Damage Controlman, for, hmmm, '_talking back to an officer_'. Does that sound right to you, boss?"

"Well," replied Gibbs, "I'm sure the whole story is more complicated than one sentence would indicate, but yeah, it's possible. We'll go talk to the Captain of the Blackett Strait and get the whole story."

DiNozzo asked, "I wonder how come they thought of smuggling drugs in an ammunition case? You'd think it would be harder to get that off the ship than the heroin."

Ziva said, "Yeah, and don't they inspect cars on the way out of the base?'

"Not everyone, not in depth, not everyday," DiNozzo answered, "and when they do inspect it's usually a pretty cursory look unless there's special circs."

"You'd think somebody would've noticed a sailor going on liberty carrying an ammunition box down the gangplank, though."

"Ziva," said Gibbs sorrowfully, "how many times do I have to tell you? It's not a _gangplank_, it's a _brow_!"

"And that makes sense how?"

"It's traditional Navy jargon, just go with it," said DiNozzo.

"At the very least, you'd think someone would want to look inside," Ziva continued her earlier train of thought.

"Obviously they got it off the ship some other way," said Gibbs.

Dr. Mallard, studying Wilson's remains, got a grip on his hair and bent his head back until he had exposed the neck, "Look it this Jethro, familiar?"

"Yeah," he replied grimly.

"Yep, these guys are all Skid317," said Simms, "including your sailors, I believe, though they don't have the tattoos. But it looks like they might have had them lasered off, in my opinion. The autopsy will tell us more."

"Hmmm," Gibbs mused, "I want you guys to check any if you've had any other similar murders, and have your pathologist recheck any recent stabbing victims for wood splinters in their wounds."

"What? Why?"

"Because we had another murder on base a few days ago. A fourteen year old boy, with Skid317 tattoos, stabbed in the chest exactly like these three, and he had wood splinters in his chest."

"And these wounds," said Ducky, "look very similar to my eye."

The detectives scribbled in their notebooks.

**Chapter Three**

"_I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a _

_nice letter saying that I approved of it."_

Mark Twain

The next morning the DC detectives met the NCIS agents in a conference room at the NCIS Navy Yard office. They started out by exchanging information. NCIS was quite startled when Simms revealed that, on review, they had discovered six more deaths in their morgue with wood splinters in the wounds, usually in the heart. All the victims were Skids, and all the deaths had occurred within the last two months.

"All right," said Gibbs in a rare display, "I owe you an apology, but you gotta admit, it sure looked bad when we got there."

"Yeah," said Simms, "apology accepted, and for what it's worth, our own bosses jumped to the same conclusion you did."

"So," Gibbs said, "moving on, have you found anything else that connects these events?"

"Damn Gibbs, what else do you need?" exclaimed Walters, "obviously we have another gang murdering their competition."

"So who do you know pounds sharpened one inch dowels into the chests of people they don't like?"

"Uh, well, no one that we know of, yet," mumbled Simms, "how about you? Did you find where the drugs came from yet?"

DiNozzo answered, "The Blackett Strait just got back from a long cruise in and around the Persian Gulf. The heroin probably came from Afghanistan, the DEA is working that end. Our late entrepreneurs smuggled it onto the ship, probably when FC3 Wilson had the Quarterdeck Watch one night, and stuffed it into the ammunition case. We're still checking to see where the ammunition is – possibly it was already fired and was an empty case, but the Navy tracks that stuff pretty carefully and it shouldn't have been possible. It was probably taken off when all the ammunition on board was removed in preparation for drydocking the ship. We're still working on how they got the box out of the shipyard armory and off-base – that shouldn't have been possible, either – but that's as far as we've gotten. A team of Gunner's Mates are in the process of opening and checking every ammunition case in the armory, as well as carefully inventorying the ammunition. They really aren't happy about the assignment, it's gonna take awhile and a bunch of guys got their liberty cut short."

"Yeah, here's transcripts of the surveillance tapes," said Simms, passing out reports. One interesting thing, your man Wilson said he had twelve cases of heroin. And even better, someone else is delivering the other eleven cases today. We don't where though, and we don't know who. I do know that we would do well to keep that shit off the streets."

Detective Walters plopped a cardboard box full of tapes down on the table and said, "Here's the entertainment boys and girls. Police videos of the crowds around the scenes and surveillance tapes from nearby stores."

"Didn't I see a couple of pole-mounted cameras along the avenue in front of the apartment?" asked Ziva.

Simms grimaced and said, "Yes, you did spot some surveillance cameras. That's part of the mayor's new public camera system intended to keep us safe from terrorists. But the city doesn't have enough money to actually turn the cameras on, yet. It's hoped that the mere presence will deter crime."

The NCIS agents didn't laugh, they were aware of the political and financial difficulties concerning the District of Columbia.

Ziva grabbed some tapes and said, "OK, how we gonna split these up?"

Hours of watching the dullest imaginable tapes later they met back in the conference room.

Abbey, who was co-opted into tape watching, said, "I saw this blond girl a couple of times, she looked out of place and her shoes looked the right size and style."

"Shoe style?" asked Detective Walters incredulously, "what has that got to do with anything?"

"Oh," Abbey replied, "this is new information—it's in the notes I passed around. I just put it together this morning after you guys sent over the data from the other crime scenes, but several of the victims were kicked and some of the crime scenes have good shoe impressions that are 9-1/2" long, high heeled too. That makes them women's size 7 or men's size 5-1/2. Pretty small either way really. I'm inclined to say woman because not very many men wear high heels, at least not in public. The bruises left by the kicks are consistent with the impressions in the ground of some of earlier incidents, as well as two good bloody shoe prints in the carpet at the most recent scene."

Everybody around the table stared at Abbey.

"What?"

"You're telling us a woman with tiny feet kicked these guys, these very tough guys who don't take shit from anybody, and then hammered stakes into their chests while they – what? Sat still and offered commentary? How do you think would that work?"

"Beats me," said Abbey insouciantly, "I bring you the facts, you do the crime solving. Although I should add that the heels were chunky enough to have been cowboy boots, maybe. But you don't see all that many guys wearing cowboy boots in the District either, at least not outside the White House."

When they finished comparing notes, they found Abbey's blond girl at most of the crime scenes, mixing in with the crowd. Abbey finally found her on the Washington Navy Yard tape, this time with a visitor's pass hanging from a button on her jacket. A little backtracking and they spotted her at the gate and were able to identify her: Buffy Summers.

"Sure, that fits," DiNozzo said sarcastically, "with a name like Buffy she's gotta be a serial killer!"

--- ---

Buffy slammed the door shut behind her and flopped to the couch on her back. She said with disgust, "Lost her!"

"Again?" said Willow, "well, don't worry, we'll find her yet. She's probably lonely and all, what with her wandering around the darkest alleys and graveyards of our nation's Capitol, looking for vampires to slay without knowing the reason why."

"I don't know Will, it almost seems like she's avoiding me on purpose. But I'll tell you one thing, this city really is the crime capitol – it seems like nearly every time I get near her, I stumble on a crime scene. It's getting ridiculous. Plus I got mugged twice."

"What did you do with the muggers?" Willow wondered out loud.

"Oh, I tied 'em up, called 9-1-1 anonymously, and made certain that their weapons were tucked into their clothes, out of reach of their hands. I would think they'll be in a little bit of trouble, although I am not certain how good the Washington police are – bound to be better than Sunnydale's though."

"Well that wouldn't be saying much," observed Willow, "so what happened this time?"

"Well, the first location turned out to be the middle of a huge hotel, you failed to mention which floor so I was kind of flummoxed, what with forty or so to chose from. This location spell of yours needs a little work in the accuracy department. Then you called to warn me she was on the move. I figure I was only fifteen or twenty minutes behind her, but her next position was near another crime scene, an apartment building, surrounded by cops and CSI people, even some kind of Federal Agents. I wandered through the crowd of onlookers to see if I could sense her, but I think she was long gone."

"So what did you do the rest of the day, and night?"

"Oh, I found these great shoes, look!" She dumped out a shopping bag on the bed. Willow spent some time admiring Buffy's purchases when Buffy said, "I almost forgot, these are for you!"

They were admiring the knee-high soft leather boots that Buffy had found for Willow when an authoritarian knock on the door, followed by "NCIS, OPEN UP," startled them.

"OK, OK, hold your horses!" Buffy shouted back. She asked Willow, "What would NCIS want here?" Willow shrugged.

Buffy opened the door. At first it appeared that the three agents and two plainclothes cops were all ready to barge in and subdue vicious criminals. But they stared at Buffy and Willow and the pile of shoes on the bed just long enough to feel a little stupid about that plan.

Gibbs walked in and asked, "Are you Buffy Summers?"

"Yes, and who are you?"

"I'm Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Buffy shrugged indifferently, "Go ahead."

"What were you doing at the Washington Navy Yard last Wednesday?"

"I was touring. Which follows since I'm a tourist. I quite enjoyed the architecture of those old buildings. And the USS Barry was very educational. Going to sea in the Navy must be really uncomfortable, I kept hitting my legs on the metal seal-thingies on those watertight doors."

The male investigators all glanced at Buffy's legs.

"That's why we call them shin-knockers," said Gibbs, "and what were you doing on 'H' street yesterday?"

"Shopping," Buffy pointed at the pile of shoes on the bed, "and I saw all those cops and wandered over to look. You guys really have a lot of crime in this city, but I suppose you already know that."

"And," Gibbs continued, "we found you, on tape, wandering around at several more crime scenes, all in the last ten days. Can you tell us what you were doing at those scenes?"

"No."

"No? You won't tell us what you were doing?"

"No, as in I don't really remember. I wasn't there because of the cop cars, those were all by accident, and I was just curious. And besides, I've only been in town five days."

Detective Simms said, "I think you need to come down to the station with us, if it's alright with you Agent Gibbs." Gibbs nodded assent.

McGee picked up a shoe and looked at inside. He frowned a little.

"What McGee?"

"These aren't size sevens."

Buffy, clearly affronted, said, "No, I wear 6-1/2."

--- ---

Ransom heard a horn and stepped cautiously outside the warehouse. He nodded at the driver of a van and looked around nervously. Reassured that they were unobserved, he said, "Hey Jonson, my man! How ya doin'?"

"Got's the stuff dude, open the door and let's get this van inside, the fucker's hot and I ain't talkin' 'bout the engine."

Jonson backed the van into the warehouse, Ransom closed the overhead door and they both looked admiringly inside the van at the stack of gray ammunition boxes.

Ransom looked up when someone else came into the garage area. "Hey Slick! This here's some good lookin' shit! Is Wilson back yet?"

"Naw, don't know where that bitch is got to," he said, "he ain't answering his phone so I suppose he's getting' some pussy." Slick was irritated at the thought of someone else getting it on while he was stuck in the warehouse.

Ransom counted the boxes as they unloaded them by hand onto a pallet, "Twelve boxes? Didn't Tee Wilson have one one with him last night to show Jamie? There should only be eleven here, we got some extra shit?"

"He said twelve, I got's twelve," said Jonson stolidly.

"But if he has one, and you have twelve, that's thirteen."

"He said twelve. There's twelve."

Ransom reflected that it was probably not worth thinking about Jonson's higher thought processes. He reached into the van and started to lift the thirteenth ammunition case but he could barely budge it. "Shit! What the hells in this one?" He dragged it to the door's edge and opened it – all three looked at the contents with varying degrees of surprise.

Jonson said slowly, "Huh. No wonder that box wuz heavier than the others."

"Fuckin' A!" said Slick, "it's full of big-ass bullets! These fuckers are an inch across! What's that, six, eight inches long? Damn near half as big as my dick!"

"I seen your dick, Slick, no way. Now mine on the other hand..."

"Oh fuck you Ransom!"

"So, what we gonna with these, Slick? I can't see any of us firing a one-caliber gun, you?"

"One caliber gun, funny. I dunno Rans-man, maybe we could toss 'em hard enough to make 'em explode."

--- ---

They took Buffy to the Police station, Gibbs figuring that the general roughness and dirt would be better for the purpose than the relatively clean atmosphere of the NCIS building. Besides, it was closer. They spent the afternoon questioning her, taking turns, doing the good cop, bad cop thing. But, nothing happened. Buffy acted like a tourist in Washington, and never did or said anything that suggested she was anything but a tourist. Eventually they drove her back to her hotel – they didn't even warn her to stay in town. Gibbs and the detectives were about ninety-five percent certain she was innocent.

--- ---

Buffy stomped into the hotel room and slammed the door. Willow woke up from a deep trance and sleepily asked, "How'd it go?"

"We have a problem."

"Yeah?"

"During the entire afternoon of questioning, in which I convinced them I'm an ordinary tourist thank you very much, they managed to drop a few facts. They have a string of unsolved murders, ten, so far. Every single victim was stabbed in the chest and has wood splinters in the wounds."

"Persephone personified!" cried Willow, "that can't be good. Do you suppose...?"

"Yes, I suppose what you suppose – our missing Slayer seems to be a serial killer."

"Well, something like that happened before, we shouldn't be surprised that it happened again. But these people she's killing, is there a connection?"

"Yes, they are all members of a local gang. They're really bad guys: murderers, drug dealers, pimps, the list goes on."

"So we should give her a medal?"

"No, Slayers shouldn't slay people, you know that. Except in self-defense, but what little I could learn from their questions I don't think this was self-defense. Our defiant Slayer is systematically wiping out one particular gang, the Skid317, for reasons known only to her. Let's keep an open mind though, she might have a very good reason."

Willow looked doubtful.

Buffy added, "I think I need to talk to Giles, can you arrange things so we have a private conversation? I don't want any nosy police listening in."

Willow smiled, "Yes, I can fix that. We also better get the Coven in England on the case. Sometimes they are able to come up with a name, and I haven't been able to, yet."

"Aren't you more powerful than the coven?"

"No, well, unless you want me to go black-Willow on you, and I don't think you want that."

"No, not so much. Also, it would be helpful if we could get copies of all the police reports, and NCIS reports. I'm pretty sure I know what Giles is gonna say – we need to find our girl and spirit her away to England."

Willow said, "At least Giles has a better handle on stuff like this than the old council and their stupid 'wetworks' team."

"I wonder if she should share a room with Dana."

"Yeah," agreed Willow, "we get any more like that and we can start a summer camp for wayward Slayers."

"Dana did give us some experience in that sort of thing," said Buffy, "but let's leave Andrew out this time."

"I don't know Buffy, he actually did a pretty good job that time. And he'd make sure we're fed properly. I'd kill for some of his _Cardassian Sem'hal Stew with Yamok Sauce_ right now – it's a lot better than you would expect – and his _Romulan porridge _– he makes it with brandy you know – is to die for..." She noticed Buffy's glare and added, "I'll shut up now."

_End Part One_


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Crossed over with

NCIS

**The Dying of Skid317**

by Lancer47

STFarnham

_See Notes in Part 1_

**Chapter Four**

Gibbs and McGee parked their car in a run-down industrial area of Washington. They were following a map supplied by the police in order to check the crime scenes of the previous murders. Detectives Simms and Walters were supposed to meet them, but they were stuck in court that morning and hadn't yet been able to get away.

"I think this is the right alley, Boss. Although there do seem to be a lot of alleys around here that look the same."

"Yeah yeah, McGee, this is the right one," replied Gibbs.

They walked down a trash strewn concrete alley, stepping around the more disgusting piles of detritus, studying their surroundings carefully. The crime scene was obvious from the two large puddles of dried blood.

"McGee, collect samples – there, there, and over there behind the dumpster."

"Uh, Boss? I didn't bring a sample case, did you?"

"No McGee, that's why you're here," Gibbs said patiently.

"Oh. Uh, why don't I go back to the car and get the case, boss?"

"Good idea McGee." Gibbs could hear McGee's footsteps retreating as he continued to nose around. A moment later he heard footsteps coming back and, without looking up, asked, "What'd you forget McGee?"

"Nuthin' mister government man!"

Gibbs realized his mistake and turned rapidly while drawing his gun. But a baseball bat came out of nowhere and smashed against his gun and hand. He was unable to hold on to his weapon -- it fell to the ground and skittered off, only to be grabbed by a young tattooed thug.

Gibbs swiveled and grabbed the man's arm, twisted his body around and tried to throw him, but a second and third man came up to either side of him and started punching him. Gibbs threw himself backwards and desperately grabbed two in an attempt to bash their heads together, but it didn't work. McGee stepped around the corner at that moment and dropped his case, pulled his gun, and was tackled by the first man who slammed him into the ground. Who then gathered up both guns and said, "All right boys, hold them up against that wall."

"You're making a serious mistake son," said Gibbs, you really don't want to attack Federal Agents."

"Oh, I think we do. You see, I'm sendin' a message: stay the fuck offa my turf! We gots the means and the will to fight as many a you righteous assholes as get sent here."

"So what's the message?" asked Gibbs.

"This," he said ominously as he straitened both arms, with a gun in each hand, and started to take aim.

"Hey, can I join this party? I didn't miss any of the fun, did I?" And the gunman found his arms forced upwards by two surprisingly slim hands and arms wrapped around him. It was as if he found himself caught in a hydraulic vise, he couldn't push back down no matter how hard he tried. Then he was violently twisted around and tossed twelve feet into two of his buddies. He saw a dark haired woman standing where he had been standing. Somehow, during the toss, she disarmed him and she was now holding the two handguns.

"Lose something?" she smirked. She casually shot her foot between the knees of the one still standing, twisted her toe around and yanked back. He fell to the ground. Faith said, "Lie down next to the others." She turned to Gibbs and asked, "I s'pose you want your guns back?"

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble miss, and what might your name be?" asked Gibbs, holding his wrist and rubbing his side where he had been hit particularly hard.

"Faith Lehane," and she tossed the weapons back to their owners. McGee barely caught his as he sat groggily on the ground and rubbed his head. Gibbs almost dropped his because he was having a hard time getting his right hand to work.

"OK, Ms. Lehane, thank you. McGee, cuff the prisoners. And Ms. Lehane, I really hate to do this, but I have to place you under arrest, also."

"What? Is that how you thank girls? Put them in handcuffs? That's some kinda kinky, pops."

"No, no, I do thank you for saving our lives. It's just that I see a wood stake tucked into your boot, and somebody has been murdering gentlemen like these," he waved negligently towards the prisoners, "with just such a tool. And you've displayed an interesting talent for street fighting that fits our _modus operandi_."

"Well it wasn't me, cause if it was, I'd of staked 'em and got away, besides, I just flew into town today, and I can prove it," she said, waving a ticket receipt at Gibbs. "Somethin' else guy, if you ask me to come down and talk to you, I will. If you insist on this arrest garbage, I'll insist on a lawyer and won't answer one single question. Your choice, pops."

"OK," said Gibbs reading her plane ticket receipt, "that was an automatic reaction. Don't move, just stand there for a minute while a make a few phone calls. And don't call me pops."

Gibbs checked with the airlines and found the ticket was authentic. He gazed at her for a moment and finally reached a decision. "Would you be so kind as to accompany us back to the Navy Yard? You're not under arrest, but I would like to question you."

"Sure, five by five, dude."

Gibbs said, "A strong clear radio signal, easily understood with no static?"

Faith said, "Huh?"

"You said five by five, that's a Radioman's code. It's two scales from one to five, one for clarity and the other for strength of the signal."

"Oh, I thought it just meant everything's A-OK, as you military guys say."

"We don't actually say that Ms. Lehane. You've got us mixed up with the rocket boys."

One of the gang-bangers, still lying on the ground and not yet cuffed, had twisted around and surreptitiously slipped a knife out of his shirt. He threw it with a sideways arm-throw at the nearest target. Faith, still talking to Gibbs, reached out and grabbed the flying knife just inches from Gibbs neck.

"Good job searching the prisoners McGee," Gibbs remarked oh-so-casually. He was still blinking at Faith's astonishing reflexes.

"Yeah," said Faith, "see why you don't want to handcuff me?"

--- ---

Back at the Navy Yard, Gibbs dropped off the four gang members at the central jail facility.

One said, "Shit man, this the first time I ever been in no brig."

Back upstairs Gibbs put Faith in an interview room. "OK, Ms. Lehane, tell me what you were doing in that alley today."

"Do you mind if I make a phone call first? I need to let my friends know I'm in town and where I am. They tend to worry if I'm late."

Gibbs frowned and said, "Well, you're not under arrest, so go ahead."

"Hey Buffy," Faith said into her cell phone, "I'm in town. I just saved the life of some kind of Federal Agent and they're questioning me now. They threatened to arrest me, but I agreed to cooperate, just like any law-abiding citizen would."

Gibbs could hear peals of laughter coming through the phone, but he couldn't hear the words.

"NCIS, which is something new for me, at the Washington Navy Yard," Faith added.

After a pause, she said, "Thanks, see you later."

Gibbs eyes had narrowed. He asked, "Buffy? As in Buffy Summers? You know her?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because we questioned her yesterday. And here she had me convinced that she was nothing more than a tourist."

"The difference between Buffy and me – I shout from the rooftops, but she's quiet and keeps to the shadows most of the time. I like steaks, barbecue, and hot peppers – Buffy likes fruit and yogurt. I like to fuck strange men. I'm pretty sure she's never had a one-night stand in her life, except that one time in college and it wasn't her choice to stop after one night. Hell, I'd fuck a strange women, Buffy wouldn't have a woman under any circumstance. How 'bout you Agent Gibbs? You doin' anything tonight?"

But it was DiNozzo's eyes that had glazed over. "Uh, me? How about me?" he choked out.

Faith grinned at Tony, "You wanna be my boy toy tonight?"

"Ms. Lehane!" Gibbs said sternly, "you don't have to play the tough girl for us, we already know, and besides, DiNozzo has a girlfriend, or at least he did yesterday."

"Too bad."

--- ---

Later that evening, Faith joined Buffy and Willow back at the hotel room. They splurged on room service, and after Faith finished her steak and potatoes, Buffy finished her California fruit 'n' yogurt salad with a turkey sandwich, and Willow finished her grilled tofu and vegetables, they all sat out on the balcony to watch the sunset.

Willow said, "I can feel something in the air. Tonight you may have a successful hunt."

"Yeah? What are we hunting?" asked Faith.

"A serial killer," said Willow.

"A lost slayer," said Buffy.

"A difference of opinion," said Faith.

Buffy said, "Well, the fact is, we need to find her first, before the cops and the feds find her, and find out why she's doing this. She is executing bad guys after all, and apparently in some sort of order. So there could be a good reason for her actions."

"Do you really believe that?" asked Willow.

"It's possible, but there's no use guessing. You up for a locater spell, Will?"

--- ---

Faith and Buffy followed Willow's directions and found a convenient building in a perfectly gross part of town to observe the area that Willow thought was the most likely place to find their quarry. They walked quietly along the parapet in order to to avoid the noisy gravel roof. This gave them an eight inch wide path which was slanted slightly inward. One misstep would result in a long fall, but they were both quite comfortable three stories above the pavement. Neither one felt any anxiety about the height.

They couldn't see the Slayer they were hunting, but they could sense her. They could hear voices below, a couple of gangers, it sounded like. They came around a corner and Buffy pointed downwards towards a shadowy part of the alley. Faith nodded, and pointed towards the other end. 'Uh oh,' Buffy mimed.

They watched as their missing Slayer walked along the alley. He noticed her approach and pulled a gun out of his back pocket. "Hey chicky, you come to the right place! Now get yer ass over here, or I shoot you!"

She had walked right up to him and sort of fiddled with a button on her dark jacket and coyly batted her eyelashes in the dim light from a fly-spotted fixture over a ratty old door.

He looked her over carefully and said, "Hey wait, I know you! You're the ..."

Suddenly, without warning, her hand shot forward at snake-strike speed and she whipped his gun right out of his hand. She didn't make any allowance for his finger caught in the trigger guard except to make certain the barrel was pointed off to the side. Good thing, since it fired as she twisted it and broke his finger. He screamed, the bullet spranged down the alley. She threw the gun into the brick wall hard enough to shatter the steel frame and barrel.

She said quietly and sincerely, "Guns don't kill people. I do."

Up on the parapet, three stories above, Faith grinned and flashed two thumbs up to Buffy. Buffy grimly shook her head. Faith mouthed, 'Oh, sorry, that's bad.' And pointed down with index fingers of both hands and raised eyebrows, suggesting they jump. Buffy nodded and stepped off into space. Faith followed, with a push to put her further out from the wall. They landed on either side of the girl. Buffy snatched the girl's stake before it reached it's target. Faith kicked the guy ten feet or so down the alley. The girl looked back and forth at Faith and Buffy with much confusion.

"Hey, didn't I see you two in my nightmares?"

**Chapter Five**

"_The more I know of men, the more I like my dog."_

Anne Louise Germaine de Stael

"OK Willow, we found our culprit," Buffy said loudly when they got back to their hotel room.

"Our missing slayer, Miss Angela Ruiz," said Faith.

"Tell me Angela, why are you going around murdering members of Skid317?" asked Buffy, once Will had joined them and they all sat down, "not that they're innocent little lambs, but Slayers aren't supposed to slay people, not even those who richly deserve slayage."

"Because two years ago – wait,what's a Slayer? Isn't that a West Coast Gang?" Angela's eyes were dark as she glared. "I'm warning you, if you guys are a gang, I am your enemy!"

"Yeah yeah," said Faith dismissively, "you're all death in heels, we know all about it. Look _chica_, we'll explain this Slayer business in a minute, but first, we want to know why you've been murdering these guys."

Angela watched Faith suspiciously, but continued, "My brother was involved in a gang. Not the Skids, but a Latino gang. There was a turf war, well there's always turf wars between gangs, but this one escalated until it was noticeable to the average citizen. This brought down heavy police action so there was an attempt to negotiate peace. My brother was one of the soldiers involved and the Skids had specifically targeted him – I suppose because he was personally responsible for killing a number of them."

"So your brother has blood on his hands?" asked Willow.

"Hey, I don't claim my brother Julio was any kind of saint. Anyway, he didn't know he'd been fingered. I was arguing with him to get out, to go away, get out of the gang life, but he refused to listen. To tell the truth, I think he liked being a criminal. So we got to arguing so loud and so long that he didn't notice where we were walking, and I didn't know any better. Even though we weren't in Skid territory, it turned out we were near enough for them to kidnap us. They dragged us to an old abandoned warehouse and they nailed him to a wall. He didn't scream as the spikes sank through his flesh and bones, but he couldn't help but moan."

Buffy winced at Angela's description of spike damage.

Angela continued, "Then they ripped my clothes off and took turns holding me down and raping me with my brother forced to watch – that's when he started screaming. Twelve of them, one after another, sometimes several at the same time, most of them more than once. Then they shot my brother in the gut and made me watch until he died – it took a long time. I don't know why they didn't shoot me, I wished they had. They left me lying naked and bloody in the dirt, half dead myself. I couldn't move; Julio's dead eyes stared at me until the cops got there."

Willow, Faith and Buffy were horrified and visibly upset.

Angela continued, "I don't really know how I survived the next few months – my mother had to be strong enough for both of us. I don't know how she did it; I can only guess that she wasn't terribly surprised by my brother's death, but I never asked her about him. I pretty much retreated to my bedroom and mostly didn't leave. So then a few months ago I started getting these nightmares, I mean new nightmares on top of the old nightmares, all about monsters and things that I was stabbing in the heart. And for some reason I seemed to have gained a great deal of strength and speed. Well, the only monsters I knew about were these guys, these Skid317 gang bangers who gang raped me and murdered Julio. You can bet your ass that I answered the call. Killing them has been more therapeutic than counseling, better than sleeping all day, better than watching time pass."

Angela's simple description of her attack made it all the more terrible to her listeners. They all looked at each other and came to the same conclusion.

Buffy said quietly, "That's uh, you know, I think we understand now."

Willow started to hug and smother her in sympathy, but Angela backed up with her hands raised a little and said, "No, don't touch me. I don't want any pity, or help or hugging or anything like that."

Willow stopped and said "We can help you. I can help."

"What," Angela sneered, "Some shit like aromatherapy? I've been to counseling, didn't really help much. Although I suppose it did keep me from killing myself."

"That's a worthy result," said Willow, "beyond that, I can teach you how to do a deep trance, clean your head of murderous thoughts. It really works, I've gone through it myself."

"No. I'm going to track down and kill two more people, that's all the therapy I need – if it hadn't been for your interference tonight, I would have only one left."

"It is a sort of justice, kind of like self-defense," said Faith.

Willow said, "Sure Faith, it's just like self-defense – not! You think it's not murder if you've got a really, really good reason? The law doesn't excuse revenge killing, not even for Slayers." Willow turned to Angela and continued, "Of course, if you got the right jury you probably could get off – but that's a long shot."

Faith said, "What are we going to do? I sure as hell don't want to turn her over to the cops."

"No, me neither, so we really need to find someone else to take the blame," said Buffy.

"You want to frame someone?" Faith asked, surprised.

"No, I want to frame a corpse."

"Oh, that sounds much better."

"Hey, I still have have two rapists to execute!" exclaimed Angela.

"No, no, no matter how deserving these two are of getting staked, we can't let it happen now."

"Fuck you! I'm gonna kill them! And I won't be stopped! Did I mention how strong I've become? It has to be the right thing to do because God is on my side! I am fighting on the side of good to smite evil! And I'll go through you if I have to!"

"Hey girl, you might be a little crazy, you know that don't you?" suggested Faith.

"The lord made me an avenging angel!"

"No, actually he made you a Vampire Slayer," said Buffy, "except it wasn't the Lord, it was Willow. She did it at my request."

"Huh?"

"Although I suppose we had a little help from whatever higher powers guides us."

"OK, you guys are starting to scare me now," said Angela, "and I thought I was the scary one."

"I'm wondering guys, should we be trying to reform her? Or just leave it to the New Council?" asked Willow.

"Actually, reforming murderers is sort of our specialty," said Faith.

"Is not!" exclaimed Willow hotly, "except when it is," she added softly.

Faith said, "Look, I killed that poor geologist in cold blood, you tortured and killed Warren Mears, then tried to destroy the whole world. Andrew killed Jonathon. Giles killed Ben. And let's not forget the time Buffy tried to murder all her friends and her sister. She changed her mind at the last minute, but still. And Buffy and I killed some of those crazy Byzantium Knights; sure, it was self-defense, but I'm pretty sure they were human. So none of us has unbloodied hands. It's a regular murderer's row around here; when you think about it, it's a wonder we aren't all in prison. Still in prison in my case."

"So you see, Angela, we understand where you're coming from," said Buffy.

"But seriously, we can't allow you to finish your plan, cuz' we're all reformed and shit," Faith added.

"Here's what we can do," Willow suggested, "we can engineer those guys, and the whole rest of the gang for that matter, into prison for a good long time. And if you think about it, that's actually a worse punishment."

"Not to me it isn't. They are guilty of rape and murder," Angela nearly shouted, "and I won't rest until they are all dead so they can't do it again!"

"Hmmm, this may be more difficult than we thought," said Willow.

"Ya think?" Buffy agreed.

"How about if we arrange it so a rival gang can kill them?" asked Faith.

"That's called '_conspiracy to commit murder_'," said Willow, "and the law frowns on that, too."

"Oh no," said Faith, "we don't have to conspire with nobody, just arrange it so they're in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all, we don't make nobody do nothin', just step back and let nature run it's course."

"God that's tempting," sighed Buffy, "but we still can't do it. We'll help the police find evidence and get them arrested, after that, it's someone else's responsibility."

"Then you're gonna have to fight me, because I won't rest until the last two are dead, dead, dead and buried!" said Angela.

"I don't blame you girlfriend," said Faith, "we're all sympathetic to your goal. But I can speak from experience, not your experience, but something else that's – not even close to what happened to you. Like you, I've killed in cold blood, and girl, you gotta stop. It's not good for the soul."

"You have friends now," said Willow, "friends who understand what's driving you, friends who'll watch your back. You don't need to continue your killing spree, you really don't. We're far more powerful than any gang can imagine – you are not in danger from them anymore."

"Yeah," Buffy said sadly, "now you're in danger from far worse creatures."

At Angela's startled look, Willow said, "Why do think you've got these new preternatural abilities? You're gonna pay for it, Angela. Just wait and see what you're supposed to be killing! Those gang guys will seem like a walk in the park."

"What? Demons?" Angela said sarcastically. Everyone look at her with raised eyebrows. She added, "No way, not even!"

"Yes, demons, vampires, monsters, things that go bump in the night."

"Now you're just fuckin' with me. There's no such thing as vampires and demons!"

"Um, yeah there are. How do you explain your nightmares? How do you explain your strength, your ability to heal rapidly? How do explain us showing up in your dreams? Look deep down inside yourself, you know I'm right."

Angela thought for a minute and finally said "Well, at least they aren't rapists anyway."

"Well, actually, some of them are—in fact, some demons enjoy combining rape with murder. We've been told that some demons have, er, equipment, that doesn't mesh properly with-- Nevermind that, just know that it's your job to slay them now."

"God, I feel like I just got transported to the land of Oz, a weird sort of noir Oz."

"How's that?" asked Willow.

"Oh, I saw something on the Internet the other day, apparently a paper in Marin County described "The Wizard of Oz" as: _Transported to a surreal landscape, a young girl kills the first woman she _

_meets and then teams up with three complete strangers to kill again. _ I feel a little like that, now."

"Except we're not gonna help you kill anyone, just things."

"And you've already murdered ten people, so you're ahead on points."

--- ---

Ransom walked over to the workbench and watched for a moment. He asked with raised eyebrows, "What the fuck you doin, Slick?"

"Makin' pipe bombs, dickwad. What's it look like?" Slick carefully placed a 25mm cartridge horizontally in a machinist's vise, making certain that the rim was clear of the jaws. He tightened the v-shaped jaws until the brass was held firmly. Then he took a sixteen inch pipe wrench to the copper-jacketed lead bullet, awkwardly because of the cast on his finger, and with a twist of the wrench pulled it out. Powder started to run out of the brass casing into a glass beaker set below the vise.

"Why?"

"Cuz I don' know how to make these giant fuckin' bullets explode."

"But why do we need bombs?"

"That amazon girl last night and her fuckin' super friends, that's why. We gonna take 'em out, they can't dodge no explosion, they sure as hell gonna get blowed up."

"Oh you and your fuckin' super-girls! You're just a big wuss, '_oh a girl broke my finger_! _ That means_ s_he's gotta have super-powers!'_ Oh whoop-de-do! Man, you gotta come up with a better story than that!"

"Who do thinks been killin' the rest of us, huh? You think it's them pussy assed 'D' street dudes? It wasn't, it was that damn bitch. I recognized her, she was the one we all did last year, when we killed that Ruiz fucker."

Ransom smiled at the memory, "Yeah, that was fun shit! You sure it was her? How? She didn't seem so tough when we held her down and took turns fuckin' her, did she?"

"I dunno, maybe she got bit by a radioactive spider – the fuck I know? She woulda killed me last night but she got stopped by some other girls. By now she's probably whined to them 'bout getting gang banged or some shit, as if she didn't like it, the fuckin' cunt. So: pipe bombs."

Slick was trying so hard to convince Ransom of the danger from the three young women that he stopped paying full attention to his work. He didn't feel it when his finger-cast knocked the next shell a little too far into the jaws. He angrily spun the vise handle but didn't notice the jaws tightening on the rim of casing. Ransom glanced idly at the vise, and noticed the base of the brass shell deforming under the pressure and starting to crush the primer. He didn't have enough time to shout a warning – the primer detonated, the gunpowder exploded and the bullet fired. The vise did a pretty good job of holding the brass casing in place, and in the end it didn't matter that the bullet took off much slower and far less accurately than if it had been fired from a barrel. The primer shot out the back and went straight into Ransom's chest, but didn't kill him. The big spent-uranium bullet went straight through the interior wall of the warehouse and wobbled through the gang's meth lab. Which exploded. The fireball went outwards and upwards in all directions; that would have killed Ransom, but he had already started to fall to the floor and was partially protected from the blast-front by the bolted steel workbench. The other occupants of the building didn't fare so well and died instantly. The blast blew the roof off the building and collapsed most of the interior walls, but strangely left most everything on the floor only slightly disturbed.

--- ---

"Willow," asked Buffy, "where's Angela?"

"Uh, it wasn't my turn to watch her Buffy."

"Yeah, very funny. No one was watching her, but we didn't expect her to take off."

"Why not?" asked Faith, "after she gave us that song and dance about the therapeutic value of murder, should we be surprised we weren't able to convince her not to go after her last two rapists?"

Buffy sighed, "Can you locate her again Willow?"

"Sure, just give me a minute to get set up."

--- ---

They found Angela stalking down a dark alley, naturally. But there were cops at the other end. Buffy stepped in front of her and shook her head sorrowfully. "I can't let you do this."

Then all hell broke loose: sirens and cops and bullhorns and shouting and bright flashing lights and running feet.

"Quick," said Faith, "up the drainpipe!" Buffy, with Willow hanging on Buffy's back, her hands around Buffy's neck, went up hand over hand. Angela followed, but much more tentatively, using hands and feet. Faith, below her, whacked Angela's ass and whispered, "Move yer ass A! We don't have time to hang about!"

Angela hurried up, but she looked over her shoulder at Faith with hatred in her eyes. When they popped over the edge of the roof, Angela turned around hit Faith with a roundhouse right that knocked her off her feet.

Faith flipped over and faced Angela, "What the hell was that?!"

"Don't ever touch my ass, or any other part of me!" Angela was very angry, red-faced and blotchy.

Buffy said, "Quit being such a prude, we're Slayers Angela, we don't have time for this."

Angela looking down to the alley, where Detective Simms and Walter were handcuffing the suspect, said, "One of them," said Angela, "maybe it was that one, spanked me with a 2x4 when I wasn't compliant enough for him while being gang-raped."

Faith looked ill. "Well that's it then, lets go kill 'em, right now."

Buffy said brightly, "Yeah, then let's go ahead and slay all the Skids, since there's no doubt the rest of them are cut from the same cloth."

Angela looked surprised and gratified. Faith said, "Hell yeah Buffy! That's a great idea!"

"And then I know of some third world dictators and generals I think could stand to be knocked down to a lower plane of existence," Buffy continued, really getting into it.

"You go! We could put some of the extra Slayers to work!" Faith agreed happily.

Willow looked upset and waved her hands frantically and said, "But, but..."

"And after that," Buffy bulled right over Willow's attempt to get a word in, "there's some Senators right here in Washington, DC whose deaths would greatly improve the world!"

"Yeah! -- wait, what?" Faith looked a little doubtful for the first time since Buffy started her rant. Willow calmed down with sudden understanding.

"Faith," said Buffy, "once we start targeting humans, where do we draw the line? If we start murdering everyone we disapprove of, where do we stop? Today it's rapists, tomorrow child molesters, after that murderers. And when they're all dead, how about robbers? Con men? Politicians? And how long do you think it'd be until the armies of the world unite to dispose of us? How long do you think a few hundred Slayers could stand up to six trillion people who hate us?"

Faith scuffed the roof gravel with her toe as she stopped to contemplate. Angela just looked impatient.

Willow said, "Uh, I hate to be pedantic, but that's six billion, Buff."

"Billion, trillion, not seeing it'd make much difference if they're all coming after us waving pitchforks and torches."

Angela sighed and said, "Look, I don't want to kill a bunch of people, just two two guys who raped me. Surely no one would think less of me for that."

"Angela, think of this as is a test," said Buffy, "a test of your, well, our, characters. The first rule of Slayers is _'don't die'_, but the other first rule is _'don't kill people'_."

Faith said with a little smile to take the sting out, "Your holier than thou attitude came from your time in heaven, right B?" Angela looked startled at that statement.

"Not really, I've always been anti-murder." Faith flinched in response. Buffy added hurriedly, "I'm sorry Faith, that just slipped out, my tongue disconnected from my brains, you know how sometimes I just babble on..."

"No, Buffy, it's alright. And for the record, you're right. Angela hon, stifle yourself. We're gonna go find demons to slay and you will stop thinking about those two who aren't gonna be victims of yours."

Buffy asked, "How are we going to do to keep Angela out of prison for multiple murder of the previous ten?"

They all fell silent. Then Buffy said, "Look down there, Angela, see what's happening? He's being carted off to jail. Do those cops look like they're being nice to him? Doesn't that make you think the cops really want to put those guys in prison? Don't you think they would put the whole gang there if they can find the evidence they need, in a legal manner?"

They watched from the shadows, six stories up, as a whole circus of cops went through the whole legal rigmarole of filling out paperwork, processing a crime scene, and drinking coffee. It seemed inefficient but inexorable. They could believe that the massive machinery of the state was in the process of steam-rollering a single person who richly deserved the pointy end of justice.

Angela said slowly, "Well, I guess I can give the cops a chance to do their jobs."

Buffy and Faith smiled.

Willow asked, "Do you think you'd like an all expenses paid trip to England?"

_End Part Two_


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Crossed over with

NCIS

**The Dying of Skid317**

by Lancer47

STFarnham

_See Part 1 for notes._

**Chapter Six**

_There's a gigantic gray area between good moral _

_behavior and outright felonious activities. _

_I call that the Weasel Zone and it's _

_where most of life happens._

Scott Adams (Dilbert)

Gibbs answered the phone, "NCIS, Gibbs."

"This is detective Simms, we found something of yours down here at an exploded warehouse. A bunch of navy-gray ammunition cases, all but one full of grade-A heroin, imported courtesy of the US Navy."

"An exploded warehouse?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, a meth lab explosion."

"And the one case that didn't have drugs in it?" Gibbs ignored Detective Simms' implied criticism.

"It was full of ammunition."

"Was?"

"Well, why don't guys come on down here, and you might as well bring a Navy armorer, or whatever the hell you call 'em, to collect some of these giant cartridges, at least the ones that're still in one piece."

"It's just rifle ammunition Simms, big rifles to be sure, but it's not that dangerous. You can handle it safely."

"No way, this stuffs been in a fire, our guys won't touch if they don't have to. And since it says US Navy all over the damn place, we don't have to."

Gibbs thought he could hear _'nah nah nah nah'_ in Simm's tone of voice. "Stop worrying Simms, we'll take of it."

"Oh yeah," added Simms, "There's also a Navy-gray van with 'U. S. Navy Official Vehicle' stamped on the side parked in the former warehouse. You can have it back if you want."

"We'll be there in twenty. Don't touch that van, my guys will process it."

Gibbs and Ziva arrived at the site of the former warehouse behind McGee and DiNozzo in the NCIS van. Ziva said, "What is that smell?"

"The remains of a meth lab. Didn't you have those in Israel?"

"Yeah, meth is global, but it wasn't my department. I'll remember the smell now though."

A Navy gray flatbed truck pulled up, escorted by a couple of military police cars. A Chief Gunner's Mate in a khaki uniform swung down from the cab and followed Gibbs and Ziva into the middle of the mess left by the explosion. A Hazmat team finished up on the other side of the building while crime scene technicians worked on the less damaged side.

"So Detective Simms, what do you have?" asked Gibbs, "I mean besides the stolen van." DiNozzo and McGee started poking in and around the van.

Simms and Walters pointed out the pallet of ammunition cases. Most of them were scattered and partially buried under broken roof trusses. The sheet metal panels that formed the roof had mostly blown off and into the street.

Simms said, "We have one survivor, he's in the hospital. Don't know if he's gonna make it or not."

Gibbs asked, "Do you know where he was when the explosion occurred?"

"We found him lying on the floor next to the workbench."

The Chief looked into a few of the ammunition boxes and said, "The fucks this? Looks you need DEA, not me or my crew."

Ziva said, "Well Chief, you do need to record the serial numbers off those boxes and you and I will see if we can figure out where the ammunition that used to be in those cases ended up."

Simms added, "Yeah, plus one of the cases had ammo in it. A mistake I think, it would have been the thirteenth case and from the tapes of their conversation they only appropriated twelve for their own use."

"I guess thirteen really was an unlucky number for these guys," said Ziva.

"Look over here on this bench," said Simms.

Ziva and the gunner walked over, stepping carefully over the shattered remains of the roof, and looked at the the bench, still in one piece, and the vise tightened on an empty brass shell. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Hmmm, amateur gunsmithing I see. And this shell detonated in the vise – you can see the powder burns, the empty primer hole, and the brass is extensively deformed." He looked up and eyeballed the trajectory, "This caused the explosion?"

"Most likely." said Simms, "It's not difficult to imagine the bullet plowing through the wall and into their meth lab. Probably a shock to the people working there – they actually had a pretty impressive setup."

"Yeah, half the power of the detonation went out the through the primer hole, and the lack of a barrel allowed the rest of the gases to dissipate more rapidly than usual, so I should think the bullet would have had all the power of a rock thrown by a baseball pitcher. If it wasn't for the meth ingredients being there it probably wouldn't have done much damage."

"Yep, that's our take on it too, for now anyway. The survivor, who's name is Robert Ransom, must have been standing right about where you are because he took the primer right in his chest. It lodged in his ribs and we think may have been what caused him to fall to the floor slightly ahead of the explosion. Mind you, he caught some of the blast, he's still pretty fucked up."

Ziva poked around on the bench and came up with pieces of pipe. "Looks like they were planning on making pipe bombs. Here's all the parts anyway. I suppose they couldn't figure out how to explode the shells reliably."

The Gunner's mate asked incredulously, "You think pipes are easier to explode than bullets?"

"Well, apparently they thought so, but I guess someone has seen the error of his ways – for a fraction of a second anyway."

--- ---

The next day Detective Simms arrived at NCIS and stalked towards Gibbs from the elevator. He carried a fat cardboard file box, which thumped heavily as he dropped it on Gibb's desk.

"What's this?" Gibbs asked.

"An interesting discovery," said the detective, "another connection between our vics."

"Oh? And after you assured me there couldn't possibly be any other connection, other than being members of the same gang?"

Detective Simms looked a little uneasy. "We were wrong, there is another thread. But you're not gonna like it."

"Out with it detective, we need all the available information," said Gibbs.

"We just figured out that seven of the ten murdered vics were out on bail for the multiple rape of one Angela Ruiz. There were five others involved in the incident, but they have yet to be identified, but the two sailors and your dependent might be three of the missing. Plus at least one of the vics from the warehouse explosion – fits one of the descriptions anyway."

"Damn!" said DiNozzo, "details?"

Simms said, "About a year and a half ago we were called to a crime scene in the warehouse district. We found the remains of a man named Julio Ruiz. He had been nailed alive to a wall and shot in the abdomen."

DiNozzo and McGee winced, Gibbs and Ziva were impassive.

The detective continued, "His sister, Angela Ruiz, was found naked and bloody, lying on the floor in front of her dead brother. She had been sexually assaulted and beaten. We identified and arrested seven of her assailants. She said there were twelve of them."

"And what happened then?" asked McGee.

"Ah, well, nothing much. They all had what the DA considered unassailable alibis, even though we had excellent physical evidence. So they let them all out on bail."

"BAIL? For murder and rape?" asked Ziva, outraged.

"Well, we never could identify which one committed the murder, or even if it was one of the seven we arrested – their GSRs were negative. They blamed the others, of course, and they all stayed silent about the identities of the missing ones. And since bail is allowed for rape, they all got out."

"You gotta be shittin' me!"

"Also," Simms was feeling a little disconcerted, "the judges around here aren't too particular when the victims are members of gangs."

"So this Angela was part of the gang?"

"Well, she denied it, of course, although she couldn't deny that her brother was part of a gang. But I don't think anyone believed her, 'cept maybe me and my partner. The case was going forward though, I don't want you to think it was being ignored. But we don't have enough room in our jails for any but the most violent."

"Multiple rape and murder isn't violent enough for you?"

"Actually, the victim wasn't rich enough, or connected enough, right detective?" said DiNozzo, speaking from experience, "or, and we say this softly, perhaps she's not the right color."

"Maybe that slowed things down some, but look, the first trial in the case was scheduled for six months from now. Our evidence is good, we would've easily convinced a jury to put those guys away for a long time! Eventually."

"And what about our first victim, the fourteen year old Marcus Worthing, Jr., murdered on base within a couple of blocks of his home?" asked McGee.

The detective looked at his notebook and said said, "As I said, he could have been one of the perps. He fits the description. And your two sailors also fit, if we can compare DNA we can verify them one way or the other."

Ziva said, "So you believe a then thirteen year old boy took part in a gang rape?"

"Yes."

Ziva shook her head sadly, "So, what's the theory? The victim, Angela Ruiz, is going around shoving tent stakes into the chests of her assailants? Is this girl some kind of martial arts expert now? After her attack she went and joined a gym and has been working out twelve hours a day for eighteen months?"

"Um, well, no. As far as we can tell, she hardly ever left her mother's house after the attack."

"So she's some kind of Amazon woman?"

"No, actually. She used to be a straight 'A' student, very studious, she was. Not so much on the athletics."

"So she has an avenging angel? Older brother, cousin, uncle, father? Maybe she's in another gang now? Or someone scary got out of prison and is taking care of things for her? Or could she have hired some dangerous people?"

"We haven't been able to find anything like that, so far."

"Are you looking?"

"Oh yeah, you betcha. Here, I'll leave all this stuff here, my captain is calling me, I hafta go now."

After Simms hurriedly left, the agents divided up the reports and started reading.

After a few minutes, McGee said from behind his computer, "Our sailors happened to be on leave the day of Ms. Ruiz's attack." The others looked up, nodded, but had no comments.

DiNozzo, after skimming though a few hundred pages and glancing at the crime scene photos, leaned back in his chair, stretched, yawned, and said, "Hey boss, mind if I take the rest of the afternoon off?"

Gibbs frowned and asked, "What for?"

"I thought I'd take my girlfriend to the matinée."

"You thought that, huh?"

"Yeah, well, there's nothing critical going on here."

"There isn't?"

"Nope."

"We have two murdered sailors and one murdered dependent, as well as a string of civilian deaths."

DiNozzo leaned back in his chair and yawned, "Yeah, we'll get around to it, tomorrow maybe – since all the perpetrators are all dead except for two in custody I don't see any reason to do a rush job."

"And suppose this vigilante goes after them, DiNozzo?"

"Well, I don't suppose anyone wants to put a protection detail around them. There'll be plenty of time to find this perp later."

"Yeah? And suppose this ninja assassin decides to continue his campaign? There's plenty of targets in the District."

"Well, there's no sign of that so far."

"Yeah? You don't think it's possible that the meth lab explosion could have been on purpose?"

"I doubt it boss, I mean really, disassembling 25mm shells next door to a meth lab should make them eligible for a Darwin Award. It wasn't the smartest thing they could've done."

"DiNozzo! You can't have the afternoon off! Follow up on the drug end. We absolutely can not have Navy ships being used to import heroin. You and Ziva go to Norfolk and interview the the crew of the Blackett Strait. And find out who stole the van and how the hell did they drive into the Navy Base in Norfolk, load up what they wanted from the armory and drive off without any apparent trouble. The more I think about that, the angrier I get."

**Chapter Seven**

"Wait, so how come Buffy's driving?" Xander asked tensely.

"Cuz she rented the car and didn't put anyone else's name on the lease agreement. At least, that what she _said_," Willow said with a dark glance towards Buffy.

"So if Buffy gets hurt fightin' a big bad, or even a medium sized bad, and one of us has to drive her to the hospital, we wouldn't be insured?" asked Xander, "that could suck big time, because if one of us has an accident, Buffy would have to pay for it out of her pocket."

"Actually," said Willow, "I'm a little more worried with Buffy at the wheel."

"Shut the hell up you guys," said Buffy, "if you don't like my driving, get out and walk!"

"Sorry Buff, you're doin' fine," anxious Willow and nervous Xander chorused.

As they went around a corner on two wheels, Faith asked, "What's wrong with Buffy's driving? I drive the same way."

And Angela shrugged in agreement, "I don't see a problem."

Buffy hit the brakes, twisted the steering wheel, and the car went sideways with a screech of tires. Then she hit reverse, released the brakes and applied a little gas. A moment later she slammed to a stop, perfectly parked, nose out, exactly between the lines in a spot near a vast cemetery. Everyone got out, Willow and Xander a little shaky, and looked around. The night was bright with moonlight shining off the gravestones.

Angela shivered a little. "It's awfully quiet here," she commented.

"Mmmm," said Buffy, "you notice that sour feeling in your stomach? And maybe a slight buzz in your head, kinda like the buzz from an old fluorescent light. That's the warning you get when vampires are nearby. There's not many though, probably only one, maybe two. I think we'll split up. Angela, you come with me and we'll head that way. The rest of you guys go the other way. We'll more or less follow this curved road and meet up at the opposite side."

As they walked off, Angela asked, "Isn't splitting up a bad idea? I mean, in every horror movie I've ever seen, this just results in people getting killed."

"First of all, Faith and I are confident in our abilities, having done this for a lot of years. Secondly, I know the enemy, and I know the numbers. I think there's two vamps here tonight: I'll bet you one's hanging around waiting for another to rise. I'm going to get the experienced one, and you're going to get the new one."

"But, but I've never fought a vampire before!" Angela cried.

"Then tonight will be your first, and you will either slay or die. Think of it as a test. Just remember, for thousands of years there was only one Slayer at a time, only one to stand against all the vampires and demons in the world. The urge to go out and hunt alone in the night is built in; you've been doing it, but you got sidetracked into chasing the wrong prey, understandably I think. You'll find you can do this." Buffy tossed her a stake, "Aim for the heart."

They walked companionably across the freshly mowed grass towards the back of the graveyard, where the freshest graves had been dug. Both were alert, both scanned around, looking deep into the shadows, occasionally looking behind, constantly watching in all directions. They went through a copse of trees and when they were almost to the other side, Buffy held up her hand and motioned Angela to wait. Angela realized there was someone sitting negligently on a gravestone. She could feel her heart beat faster as she watched Buffy.

"Hello," said Buffy with a worried tone of voice, "I'm lost, do you think you could direct me to the nearest phone?"

"Sure! Aren't you the cutest little thing? I could just eat you up!"

"You scampy vamps, you guys never come up with anything new, do you?"

"Huh?"

"Typical," said Buffy, "not too quick on the uptake either."

Angela watched the figure get up and stalk towards Buffy. She had a nearly uncontrollable urge to leap out and stake it herself, but she followed Buffy's directions and watched from the shadows. She remembered to keep looking around, too, just to make certain no others surprised them.

The vampire shook his head and allowed his fangs and true face to show. "I'm as smart as I need to be to chow down on dumb girls strolling in the graveyard at midnight!"

Buffy sprang into action and kicked him with her right foot. "You sure 'bout that?" she asked as she somersaulted over him and kicked him twice more before landing on her feet. She blocked a roundhouse right and went under his guard with her own fists. Then it looked to Angela as if Buffy suddenly got bored – she shook her right hand and a stake fell into her hand from her sleeve. She stabbed the stake into the vampire's chest, and he promptly turned to dust. Buffy turned to Angela and signaled with her fingers to join her.

"One of the worst failings of Slayers is a tendency to trade punches far more than necessary," Buffy lectured, "we get caught up in the fun of fighting and forget to just thrust and move on. And no dirty jokes please, I've heard it before. The thing is, sometimes our instinct is off a little, and my guess it's because the population of the world is much higher than it used be which has caused vampires to hunt in bigger groups than they did in centuries past. So we have to be focused on the kill and overcome the instinct."

"Do all vampires go _poof_ like that?" asked Angela.

"Yep, very convenient of them."

"Yeah, I'll say."

"Unfortunately, other demons aren't so accommodating. Them we have burn or bury. Huge landfills make handy demon dumping grounds."

"Oh, sounds like fun," Angela replied sarcastically.

Buffy suddenly raised her chin and glanced left and right, as if she had just acquired the scent of prey. "Notice anything odd Angie?"

Angela looked around, puzzled, until she noticed a freshly filled in grave. Something was moving under the dirt. She watched fascinated as a clawed and bloody hand popped up, followed by an arm and finally a whole, _thing_. Something inside screamed to her: _kill it! kill it!_ So she stabbed a stake into its chest and it went _poof_!

"Wow," said Buffy, "first time out and you hit the heart dead on."

"Well, I have been practicing after all."

"Yeah, but you aren't supposed to practice on people."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sorry I did."

"I'd like to send you to England, to the Council Headquarters. I won't sugarcoat it, they're gonna look at you with a little disgust at first. Oh, Giles won't, but some of the others won't be very nice. But, you need some counseling that I can't give you, and I trust the new council. Seeing as I was instrumental in rebuilding it, I should."

"What's the Council?"

"Let's sit and talk before we meet the others."

--- ---

It was two days later when DiNozzo and Ziva got back from Norfolk. "Hey Boss," said DiNozzo as he sat down behind his desk.

Gibbs looked sour as he asked, "What?"

Ziva answered, "The case is broken."

DiNozzo continued, "Yeah. Some of the fingerprints in the stolen van belonged to one Stanley Jonson, deceased in the warehouse explosion. We also found Thomas Wilson's fingerprints in the van. We think Wilson sneaked Jonson onto the base and stole the van straight from the motor pool. Then Jonson drove up to the armory with all the right paperwork to transfer ammunition to another part of the base. They helped load him up and he drove off. He couldn't have drove out the gates though, not with that load, until we found one of the civilian gate guards had a recent deposit in his bank account of forty thousand dollars. Ziva threatened to cut his balls off and he confessed to allowing the van through."

Ziva looked shocked, "I didn't say anything like that!"

"No, you didn't _say_ it, but you do have that look about you at times."

McGee nodded agreement, "Yeah Ziva, you don't need to say it, but the message gets across just the same."

Ziva looked oddly pleased.

"Let me see their fake paperwork," commanded Gibbs.

Ziva handed it to him. Gibbs put on his glasses and spent a few minutes reading. He idly scratched under the cast on his hand and wrist. He put the papers down and leaned back. He said, "Damn, these would have fooled me. Transferring a few boxes of ammunition to the Naval Gun Testing Facility – perfectly reasonable. Especially after a long deployment. Did you check to see if the paperwork on the other end was done?"

"We checked Boss. Guess what, it was there. If the armory had called to double check, it would have been confirmed. They didn't call, but it's hard to fault them. On the other hand, the Testing Facility paperwork wasn't complete. They had slipped in just the right piece of paper for an overworked secretary to answer a question over the phone in the affirmative, had it been required. The Wilson brothers were very smart dudes. Too bad about their lack of ethics."

"And the guard?"

"Charged, bank account frozen, and jailed."

Gibbs went up the stairs to see the Director. He brushed past her secretary and sat down in front of her desk. She handed a manila folder to Gibbs and said, "A report from the DEA. It seems your sailors found a supplier in Afghanistan, murdered him, and took the money and the drugs both."

"Hmm, only one loose end left then. Who killed them?" said Gibbs.

Jenny leaned back in her chair said, "You know Jethro, years ago, before I joined NIS, when I was police officer in a small town so midwestern that even my apartment house had a picket fence around it, my department was involved in a joint operation with the FBI. We were trying to trap a serial killer and I was the bait. It succeeded beyond expectations; much to everyone's surprise, especially mine, we trapped _two_ serial killers, unfortunately I was trapped with them and my backup was on the other side of town. I managed to subdue one, but I was running out of options when the other started after me. So I pulled a pen out of my pocket and told him it was a pen-gun. He didn't believe me, so I shot him."

"He called your bluff," said Gibbs, "a dangerous thing."

"Yeah, well, the only problem is that pen-guns are illegal, even for police officers. My point, Jethro, is that I killed a guy who threatened to rape me, but hadn't actually done it yet, with an illegal weapon. But no one charged me; they could have – in fact it was your humorless friend in the FBI, Special Agent Fornell who elected to look the other way."

"Are you saying we should ignore ten murders?"

"I'm saying, if it happened to me, I would have done the same, given the opportunity."

"It's easy to say you'd kill 'em all when it's hypothetical. Actually doing it is harder."

"Didn't stop you, did it?"

Gibbs looked away with a pained expression and then changed the subject, "What are you telling me to do, director?"

"Angela Ruiz is a person of interest, not a suspect. You don't need to go out of your way to find her, no APB, no warrant, and definitely no SWAT team. If you do find her, question her gently."

"But what if she murdered ten men, no matter that she had good reason, suppose she did it?"

"First, she's a rape victim and I'll thank you to remember that when dealing with her. Secondly, you're going to have to show me how she did it, because I don't see how she could have, at least based on the evidence you have collected so far."

"Good point."

--- ---

Buffy and Angela met up with Willow, Faith and Xander a few minutes later at the opposite side of the cemetery.

"So," asked Faith, "how'd you do Angie?"

"She her got her first vampire with her first thrust," said Buffy, sounding a little like a proud parent. Buffy noticed Faith's expressive leer and quickly added, "Don't say it! I know what you're thinking – don't say it!"

"Spoilsport."

They took another turn through the graveyard, but there were no vampires, demons, not even any ordinary sociopaths. Eventually, they made it back to the hotel, where Xander flipped on the TV. When the TV news came on with the story about the warehouse explosion, complete with the information about the deaths of most of the senior members of the Skid317 gang, all watched intently.

"Wow," said Willow, "it looks like no one's gonna have to slay the Skids, they're dropping like flies."

"I'd rather be stabbing them," murmured Angela quietly. The only people in the room who heard her had slayer-hearing.

_End Part Three_

Notes:

_Lauren Holly played Max on _Picket Fences (1992-1996)_. I imagine that Max quit the Rome, Wisconsin Police Department, had good reason to change her name, and joined the (then) NIS. Jenny's little reminisce is from an episode that I am relating from memory and I hope I remembered it right. _

_I had the mistaken impression that Joe Spano (Agent Fornell) had a recurring role as the FBI agent on Picket Fences. But in fact it was actually Sam Anderson, who (in the small world department) went on to play Holland Manors on Angel. _

_I see more crossovers in the future when the DVDs for Picket Fences comes out. _

_--- ---_

_This story came to an end sooner than I expected. Nothing left but the epilogue._


	4. Chapter 4

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Crossed over with

NCIS

**The Dying of Skid317**

by Lancer47

STFarnham

_See Part 1 for notes and disclaimer._

**Chapter Eight**

Angela, Faith, and Willow sat on the balcony of the hotel suite sipping fresh made lemonade. The bright sunshine, chirping birds, and gentle breeze was a sharp contrast to the discussion. Willow was gently asking questions, horrific questions, but Willow felt she had to clear up as much as possible about Angela's attack. Although Faith was listening intently, she appeared to be staring off into the distance.

After painfully going through the whole rape scene again, Angela paused before she added, "There's worse."

"Worse?" whispered a horrified Willow, "what could be worse?"

"At the start of the attack, the Skids were knocking my brother around and laughing. One of them said, 'What you and your _compadres_ did to my sister, we're gonna do to yours! But I'm twisting the knife you sister-fucker! You get a ring side seat, you get to watch the whole thing!' "

"Ah jeez," said Faith, "it was all retaliation, wasn't it?"

"Yep, I knew my very own brother was a killer, but it turns out he was also a rapist, and he was so thoughtless in his choice of victim that I got to pay the price. Well, he paid too of course, and died painfully. But it's all so pointless; you do me, I do you; you fuck me, I fuck you; you kill me, I kill you; forever and ever."

Faith looked at Angela and observed, "The only proof of that is from your brother's sworn enemies. He never got the chance to either refute the accusation, or admit to it. Don't you think we should check out some independent sources and find out whether or not your attackers were liars as well as rapists and murderers?"

"When you put it that way," said Angela, "I guess so. Jamie's sister is Tonya Wilson, I haven't seen her since she graduated high school with my brother three years ago."

Willow said, "Let's see if we can find her, if she'll even speak to you or not should tell us volumes."

--- ---

Faith and Buffy got off the elevator at NCIS. Buffy walked and Faith sauntered seductively over to Gibbs desk, with a pause in front of Tony's.

"Hello Agent Gibbs," said Buffy, "I don't know how much help we can be, but here we are, as requested."

Buffy sat down and crossed her feet. Faith slouched in her chair and stretched her legs and arms luxuriously before putting her feet on Gibbs desk. At Gibbs glare, Faith slowly put her feet down.

Gibbs said, "OK, the last time we talked, you promised to see if you could locate Angela Ruiz for me. Were you successful?"

"Kinda, sorta," said Buffy, "we caught with her as she was leaving for England. Here's her statement." Buffy pulled a couple of printed pages from her pocket and put them on the desk.

Gibbs skimmed the sheets. "So that's it?" asked Gibbs, "that's all the help you can give me? After I didn't put either of you in jail?"

"Um, sorry, that's all for now," said Faith. Buffy looked at the floor with downcast eyes.

"It feels like you promised to get me a box of doughnuts, but you delivered the holes with some vague promises for fried dough and sugar at a later date," said Gibbs.

"Sorry, but how could she have pulled off these murders anyway?" asked Buffy.

"I don't know," Gibbs replied, "but my next best suspect is Faith here."

Faith eyebrows went up. "_Moi_?" she said innocently.

DiNozzo spoke up, "But your alibi held up. I called the Cleveland Police Department, and you were where you said were when you said you were there. That's a tongue twister. Mind, a suspicious person could see a way for you to fly under an assumed name, and make a bunch of incognito trips. We checked tapes of the airport to see if that happened. So far, you're in the clear. I also checked Ms. Summers, she could have done some of them, but not all. Besides, we don't know why either of you would have."

--- ---

Tonya Wilson opened the door to her condo and admitted Angela Ruiz, along with Willow and Faith. "Uh, hi," she said, a little hesitantly, "please, sit down. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Cookies?"

"No, no, we're fine."

Tonya grabbed a tray with coffee and snacks and put it down on the coffee table, "Well, if you change your mind, it's already made."

Faith and Willow exchanged glances. Angela stared.

"After what my brother did to you, how can you be so nice to me?" Angela asked.

"What he did? What do you mean? We were in love."

"What?!?"

"It was a regular _Romeo and Juliet_ thing. Opposite side of the tracks and all. My brother disapproved, and that's a gross understatement. After what Jamie and Tommie did to you, I can hardly live with myself."

Faith asked, "So you didn't get gang raped by a dozen or so guys?"

Tonya looked stricken. "No. My family and I can never excuse their actions, can never make it up, but we'll try."

"So it was a racist thing, after all," said Willow.

"Not really, not completely anyway. You have to understand, we all grew up together, attended the same schools and our families lived just a few blocks from each other."

Angela nodded in agreement.

Tonya continued, "Now, I'm not claiming it was all buddy-buddy or we all hung out together or anything. But we were acquaintances. There weren't any major problems in school, or in sports or anything. I know in other schools and places there were regular fights to the death between ethnic groups, but not here. There were occasional fights of course, but it was usually two guys beating each other with fists while their friends took bets and made certain it was relatively fair. In fact, when the guys started their stupid gangs, they even cooperated to buy drugs wholesale, then split it up and went their own way. It was only later when they started pushing each other for territory that the trouble started. So when Jamie discovered me and Julio getting it on one afternoon, he went ballistic mostly because he thought I was spilling Skid317 business to Julio. But I didn't know anything, and if I did, I wouldn't have said anything. Everything that happened since then, grew out of that afternoon."

"I guess it's true," said Faith, "love makes you do the wacky."

--- ---

Later, back at the suite, Faith and Buffy got together and plotted. "So," said Faith, "who can we blame for Angela's, um, transgressions?"

"One of the guys in the warehouse blast would be about perfect," said Buffy, "if only we had enough forethought to plant Angela's bloody stake in one their boots."

"Well," Faith replied quietly, "why a boot? Why not a locker, or someone's bedroom?"

"Wow, that'd work, wouldn't it?" said Buffy.

"But, we do have to hurry, B. We need to quickly choose a logical person to blame it on, and get to their place before the cops. We might try a little indirection – plant evidence on one person and then make it clear that another planted it on the first. So it appears the real killer tried misdirection. That way, if there is anything that is a little off about our planting of evidence, it looks like there's a good reason and they won't look further."

Buffy looked at Faith, "OK, that's idea I never would have come up with."

"Hey, a prison education is a terrible thing to waste."

--- ---

Here's the latest report from the Washington PD, Boss," said DiNozzo, "they found a bloody wooden stake, rather crudely carved, in a drawer in the bedroom of one Robert Ransom, the only survivor from the warehouse explosion. But they also found dried blood and bloody rags in one Jeremy Odom's belongings, in his laundry room to be exact. When they confronted Ransom and explained that they thought Odom tried to plant evidence on him, he said, _'The fuck? Slick would never do that.'_ Then he shut up and never said another word."

"So the suspect is dead?"

"Yep."

"Then the case is closed."

**Epilogue**

On the day Angela was due to fly to England with Willow, she got up feeling strangely happy. Better than she'd felt in ages, since before-- she abruptly decided to think about something else.

She came into the living room of the suite and found Willow sitting on the floor, surrounded by candles, chanting in some language that Angela didn't know. She watched quietly until Willow was done, and helped her blow out the candles. "What was that about?" she asked.

"Oh, I was just renewing and strengthening the _'I'm-innocent-don't-blame-me'_ glamour I put around Buffy and Faith."

"So you really believe in this magic shit, huh?"

"Oh yeah," said Willow, "look."

The Washington Post opened without human intervention, folded back all by itself and left one article exposed, floated up and over to Angela. She read it. It was an article about the demise of Skid317, including who was thought to have murdered most of his rivals in the gang.

Willow said, "Don't you think Buffy and Faith would have been major suspects if all the cops and Federal Agents had really looked at them?"

"I guess so."

"Of course, they were easy compared to you, since they really were innocent of murdering anyone, recently, at least. For you, I reinforced your victim status and made sure they never got the chance to talk to you. It worked."

Angela looked at Willow with her eyes wide open. She suddenly realized just who might be the most dangerous of them all.

**The End**


	5. Chapter 5

**The Dying of Skid317**

**Deleted Scenes**

by Lancer47

STFarnham

_Here are a few scenes I wrote and then had to delete from the story for a variety of reasons. So in the spirit of DVD 'extras', here they are:_

--- ---

_The first one never had anything to hook it to, I'm not even certain who is talking to whom:_

--- ---

"What about the rest of the gang?"

"Huh?"

"How many are there?"

"Oh, about two dozen inner core, and another hundred or so hangers-on."

"And the rapists?"

"Well, they're all—oh, you mean just for this crime?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, they're all in the inner circle."

"So what happens when fifty percent of the core group is murdered?"

"More than that really, some of the others have died in other, unconnected crimes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, two were gunned down by an off-duty patrolman in a convenience store. One got shot by a store owner—it really isn't fair for people to shoot back! And three got burned by a South American gang that's trying to take our territory."

"Burned? As in turned in?"

"No, burned as in set on fire and turned to a charcoal briquette. We think that's some sort of message."

"No, really? You guys are like great thinkers, huh?"

_This one was deleted because Gibbs would never allow this:_

--- ---

"Do you mind if we interview the prisoner?" asked Buffy.

"Yes," said Gibbs, "I do mind. But I haven't got a thing out of him, as long as you don't threaten him with bodily harm, I don't suppose it will do any harm. You will be watched and recorded."

Buffy and Faith walked into the interview room as if they owned it. The prisoner, one Jules L. Nelson, grinned when he them enter. He said, "Hey hey, things are lookin' up, why dontcha lose some of them clothes!"

As they sat down, Buffy took a small flat jar out of her jacket pocket and placed it on the table. She unscrewed the lid and used her finger to stir what appeared to be some leaves and twigs. "You mind if I put this potpourri on the table here? I need something to hide the smell of old urine."

Jules looked askance at it. "Pot-poury? That's some fucked up chick shit, right?"

"Yeah," grinned Faith, "that's right. Us chicks like pretty things and pretty smells, right Buff?"

"You got it Faith. Actually Mr. Nelson, this well help you loosen your tongue – think of it as a magic trick."

"Yeah, right," he chuckled sarcastically. "Magic shit, you're fucked up, you know that right?"

"Your inventive command of invective is charming, Mr. Nelson."

He looked at Buffy with puzzlement, "Huh?"

Faith, getting down to business, asked, "Have you been read your rights? You know, all that stuff about the right to shut up and the right to a lawyer and all that stuff?"

"Yeah, many times in fact. I gots the whole fucker memorized."

"And you have specifically waived your right to an attorney?"

"Yeah. I ain't done nothin' wrong and I ain't gonna say anything guilty-like cuz I have nothin' to hide."

Buffy smiled, "Yes, you're the picture of innocence Mr. Nelson, you wouldn't hurt a fly would you?"

"Course not."

"So can you explain why your DNA was found, along with a mess of other DNA, inside Ms. Angela Ruiz's..." Buffy turned to Faith and said, "I don't want to mention female parts to this guy." She turned back and continued, "You know where your DNA was found. How do explain that?"

"Hey, it was consensual."

"That's not what she said."

"Huh, girl couldn't stand that she had so much fun."

Jules wilted under Faith and Buffy's angry glare.

Faith asked quietly, "Why don't you tell us where all this began? We were told that your little party was planned in retaliation for something that happened earlier."

"Nah, twasn't anything like that. It seems that Julio Ruiz was gettin' it on with Jamie's sister. They had a regular Romeo and Juliet thing goin' on. Jamie walked in on 'em one day and man, was he ever pissed! You understand, it wasn't so much the ethnic thing, it was the business thing. Jamie went unglued and Julio and him went head to head. Thas what started the whole war, thas what kept it going. In the end, two gangs was brought down by a piece of ass."

Faith murmured, "That's pussy power for ya."

Buffy frowned, Jules grinned.

"So Mr. Nelson, you say you were a participant in the gang rape of Angela Ruiz and the murder of her brother?"

"You betcher ass. No wait, no, no, not me! Fuck! What's with my mouth?"

"But I can't figure out one thing. According to Angela, she was attacked by twelve men and boys. The DNA evidence shows ten, some physical evidence at the site shows at least two more guys were there. A couple of them were shooting blanks apparently, or maybe they used condoms."

"Or they used a different hole from the rest of us," grinned Jules. Only to quickly look away from the suddenly dangerous looks from Faith and Buffy.

"So how come Angela couldn't identify you?"

"Oh, I was the thirteenth guy, I came in late, by then she wasn't seeing things too clearly."

"And who shot Julio Ruiz?"

"That was Jamie Wilson of course. He's the one had the hate-on."

"And you helped him," purred Buffy.

"You betcha, that cock-sucker couldn't plan his way out of paper sack. It was me that planned the tactics that made us successful! Why, we was pullin' in twenty, sometimes thirty grand a week from the meth alone! Then, on top of that the heroin! Why, we would have been..." he trailed off in confusion.

"You would have been rich," said Faith, "but dude, druggies never end up keeping it. You would have kept going until you exploded in a paroxysm of violence. Oh, wait, you did!"

"I think we've heard enough," said Buffy.

_I thought about adding this to clarify a few points, but I decided it was unnecessary since I either wrote well enough that you caught my idea, or I didn't. Most of all, it doesn't fit the tone of the whole piece. And I kind of went off-topic for a few sentences. I rather like it though._

--- ---

**Epi-Epilogue**

The Ascended Being sat on a cloud, contemplating the universe. All right, it wasn't really a cloud, it just kind of looked like one. It was white and fluffy, and it even had silver lining. Not real silver of course, just something that looked like silver but was a lot more comfortable to sit on. The Ascended – we'll call her Cordy for convenience – sighed as she noticed her Adversary floating up to her level. The Adversary, who we'll call Warren, leered seductively at Cordy. She ignored him pointedly even as he pantomimed lewd acts.

Warren finally sat uninvited across from Cordy and said, "I believe that one of your high and mighty Slayers will lose her soul to me."

A moment, or a millennium, later, Cordy replied, "I think not. She is atoning for her sins, sins that you drove her to."

"_Oh_," Warren replied sarcastically in a high tone, "_she really really didn't mean to kill a bunch people in cold blood and now she's sorry as hell!_"

"You know very well that we're all about atonement up here. She knows what she did and she knows it was wrong, look!" Cordy waved dramatically towards reality.

Warren rolled his eyes, but he looked in the direction indicated. He watched Angela for a bit and then he frowned, sneered, and spat on the cloud, much to Cordy's disgust. Finally he asked, "Did I miss something? How come your oh-so-sweet slayer is credited with Jeremy 'Slick' Odom's death? I mean, I have no objection to false accusations and executions of the innocent and all, but I thought you folks up here kept the score accurate? Aren't you all _Accuracy is Godly_ or some such shit?"

"Hmmm? Oh, I see, you did miss something. Rewind a little – you see there?"

"Yeah, your Miss Ruiz grabbed Slick's gun, the little bitch. I _wish_ Slick would've shot faster." Warren looked around expectantly, and was severely disappointed when nothing changed.

"Apparently you were so focused on the gun that you didn't notice that she broke his finger. The next day, his new finger-cast caused him to misalign the bullet in his vise. You can see the cause and effect now, I trust? No one on Earth saw it, but there it is. My Slayer got a clean sweep on her attackers, and has seen the error of her ways. Another win for the Slayers."

"Well," Warren asked with some irritation, "since when is it OK for Slayers to slay the souled?"

"It's not good, it's against the rules. But as long as she atones for her misdeeds, she will be forgiven and join her sister Slayers in the great hall."

Warren knew the answer of course, but he delighted in making Cordy go through the excuses. He said, "But it's still not a clean sweep, there is one left alive, rotting in jail, but alive."

"Oh ye of little wit and limited powers of observation. Robert Ransom will be charged with terrorism in Federal Court since he stole ammunition from the U.S. Navy. Or helped at least. I can look ahead," Cordy closed her eyes and hummed eerily, "and foretell the future. He will be found guilty on all counts and executed in the fullness of time." She opened her eyes and looked straight into Warren. "But you don't have to be a seer to see that, any fool can follow the logic."

In order to try and regain the upper hand, Warren veered, "Ahhh! Terrorism! The great catch-all! A handful of truly guilty surrounded by a sea of innocents who have had their rights abrogated so they can't defend themselves! A veritable Catch-22 worthy of old Lucifer himself."

Cordy glared, "But you don't get the souls, they come straight up here. I don't see what's in it for you."

"Oh Cordy my Cordy, haven't you noticed how many people are so frightened that they are supporting the prosecution of so-called terrorists? Good people are losing their souls left and right! Why, just last month I had to order another pot-full of soul-traps above the estimated allotment."

"Oh, you would have got those anyway, you guys don't have any mathematicians."

"But we have a lot of accountants! That's all we need you know."

"But you didn't get a Slayer! Since the first Slayer was called forth, lo these many millennia ago, you have never won even a single Slayer's soul! You got close, never closer than with Faith, but in the end you've always lost, and you'll lose this one too."

"What about Dana? She's a multiple murderer and still shows no remorse."

"You know very well that Dana is completely off her rocker. You _know_ she gets the 'Dispensation of the Crazed'. Stop wasting my time."

"But I got all the others in the gang! It's amazing how many souls I can gather due to those fun drug laws."

"Yeah yeah," Cordy said with disgust, "laws passed by the devil himself. Look, you know as well as I that those guys were mostly preordained to be losers. If it wasn't for illegal drugs, it would have been armed robbery or murder or something. In fact, I believe that the most I could ever have won over out of the whole gang, is five..."

Warren interrupted rudely, nearly jumping with pleasure, "Nah nah! Five to one! Five to one! You lose! You lose!"

Cordy smiled as close to evilly as she was capable of, and said, "But every Slayer has the potential to save hundreds of souls. Why, just look at Saint Buffy, thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, for her alone. In fact, by some accounting methods she is credited with saving the entire population of Earth, multiple times even."

"Saint fucking Buffy, oh how I wish God would damn that girl! Her soul would be my crowning achievement!"

"That'll never happen. Saint Buffy has already died and gone to heaven and she is a Saint incarnate, the genuine article, anointed in the great hall--so saith Saint Peter--and nothing on Earth, in heaven or hell, in future or past, can change that."

Warren turned away and sulked. Finally, he said, "Hmmph, well, I have new souls to torment. I'll pass along greetings from on high to five of them. I'm sure they'll feel great pleasure when they realize that they could have sat up here if only they'd tried just a little harder. Oh, wait, I'll take the pleasure, they'll take the pain!"

Cordy was infinitely sad as she watched Warren descend into the depths.

**The End**

(for sure, this time)


End file.
